


You're Hard Work, But You're Good For Me

by Bellelaide



Category: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh
Genre: Clingy Sick Boy, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: Sick Boy is needy as fuck - but Renton is always there to take care of him





	You're Hard Work, But You're Good For Me

Simon had always been needy as fuck - attention was like oxygen to him, and anyone in his company long enough knew it. He needed praise, sympathy and a particular amount of touch before 12 in the afternoon, in that order. 

He got ratty without it, was the problem, and started to get whiny, short tempered, to have existential thoughts that were not conducive to the simple manner in which he aimed to live his life. He was jumpy without a constant flow of care and attention, OK, but everyone had their vices. 

It normally wasn't a problem for him, lack of attention, because he had his roster of women and his mum and sisters and his pals, so there was always a steady flow to keep him sated and content. 

That was, a steady flow until he'd fallen out with Renton. 

Everyone kept telling him it was a stupid thing to fall out over, Renton going to the Hibs game without him, but he was deeply offended and knew he was justified in his actions - Renton had just gone without him, taking Gav instead as though Simon didn't exist! They'd never missed a game together and it was just plain rude, doing things without asking Simon if he wanted to join. 

So he'd not been speaking to Renton, who'd taken it with a shrug and a cocky roll of his eyes, the remorseless bastard, and Sick Boy was determined not to cave - he expected a full apology and show of regret before he'd allow Mark the honour of being back in his life. 

For the most part blanking Mark was easy enough - Simon had been staying out the majority of nights with different women and when he got back to the flat Renton was usually out, doing whatever it is skinny wee gingers did of an afternoon. It was doing everyone else's head in, Simon could tell - the way the conversation would lull when they were all at the pub and the awkward tension had overpowered the room was draining, but it was no one's fault but Marks - he'd made his bed and Sick Boy was determined he'd have to lie in it. 

Things were going just fine and Sick Boy would even go as far as to say his life was better without Renton in it , thank you very much. He'd have said it with confidence actually, until the creeping neediness associated with long periods without Renton started to settle in. 

It was a bloody liberty, honestly, because Simon didn't even like him that much - he was sure it was more a case of routine and familiarity than anything else. He'd been friends with Mark since they were wee boys and he was bound to feel a little itchy when their routine was interrupted. They lived together and Renton had Sick Boy down to a science, and Simon appreciated not needing to have to ask for a hand in his hair or a well placed compliment because Mark just knew. 

The women he slept with were obliging enough when he asked for whatever it was he needed, but it was exhausting having to do so and he felt like a fucking idiot half the time because he was meant to be there to fuck, not to get his back tickled. 

Obviously there was the fact that Renton was really good at getting Simon off when that's what he needed, and not judging him for it or asking any stupid questions. Sometimes Simon just wanted sexual gratification without having to be 'Sick Boy' about it for fuck sake, and it was handy having someone who knew what he liked. 

It was against this backdrop of increasing frustration that Sick Boy found himself at Tommy's gaff, prodding around in his living room whilst Tommy did sit ups on the floor. 

"So when did ye get this yin again?" Sick Boy was holding up a programme for a Hibs game. Tommy looked over. 

"Two year ago, mate. The date's on the cover." 

"Awww aye..." Sick Boy replied, placing it down nowhere near where he'd found it. "Dae ye wanty go n rent a film later or that?" 

Tommy stopped and sat up. "Am meetin Lizzie, Si. Can ye no... where's Alison?" 

"She's at her ma n da's. Dae ye ken wit Gav n that are dain?" 

"A dinny ken Sick Boy. Ask them yersel. What - what ur ye even dain here? No offence like, it's just oot ae character." 

Sick Boy recoiled. "Well, am so very sorry for disturbin ye wae ma friendship Tommy." He stood up, heading to the door. "A ken where am no wanted." 

"Aw Si, c'mon mate, am just worried aboot ye!" 

"Naw, Tommy, it's fine, al let masel oot." 

Tommy got up and followed Sick Boy. "We're aw worried aboot ye. Ye need tae make up wae Mark." 

Sick Boy turned around. "Yees ur worried aboot me?! Dinny make me fuckin laugh. Renton kin get tae fuck n all - stay oot ae ma business." 

He pulled open the door and stormed down the stairs of the flat, ignoring Tommy's half hearted calls after him. Alright, maybe he'd been hanging around too much, but he was bored and he was antsy and Alison was away and Les wasn't picking up her phone and wee Maria had the hump with him so what was he supposed to do?! 

Sick Boy found himself wandering aimlessly up The Walk, pondering the misfortune by which he had landed such a selfish group of friends. He nipped into RSMcolls and bought himself a ready meal for tea, thinking about the weed he had stuffed behind the microwave at home. 

It was starting to rain when he got to Montgomery Street, and he nipped inside quickly, taking the stairs two at a time. He felt anxious and jittery and without access to a cuddle or some human contact he knew a joint would be just the ticket. 

When he pushed open the door to the flat he was not expecting the lights to be on and for music to be drifting out of the living room, the low murmur of voices causing his heart rate to pick up. Simon stomped in the direction of the noise, ready to make a show of ignoring Mark and talking animatedly to whichever of the boys was with him - but froze in shock when he walked in on a young woman, draped over Renton's body and wearing his tshirt, Mark himself taking a draw of what looked suspiciously like Simon's weed and blinking lazily at him. 

"Alright Si?" Renton asked slowly, the woman turning round to eyeball Simon in the doorway. 

Anger and what was probably jealousy but would never be confessed to welled in Sick Boy's chest, and he opened his mouth to start telling Mark off but stopped as he remembered that they weren't speaking, turning instead and making a beeline back out the flat, his cheeks red with a weird kind of embarrassment. 

He was soaked when he got to the Cenny, squeezing himself in the booth beside Spud who was staring dazedly at the wall. 

"Happnin Danny?" 

Spud looked dopily at Sick Boy, a slow grin appearing over his face. 

"Yer all wet Simon man!" 

Spud was with a couple of folk Sick Boy barely knew, the lot of them junkies - he was surprised they were here, actually, and not lying junked up on a floor somewhere. 

"Aye, well, that cunt Renton's just forced me oot the fuckin flat. Canny fuckin believe it, man - av no clue where am gonny stay the night either." 

"That doesny sound like Mark, likesy... are yees still fightin?" 

"Fighting implies av done suhin wrong, Spud, which a certainly huvny. But am no speakin tae um still, if that's wit ye mean." 

Spud sighed. "A think ye should make up wae um, man... life's too short, catboy..." 

"Wit dae you take me fur? Dae a look like a fuckin walk ower?" 

"Naw Simon naw! Just that - we've noticed, likesy, yer no..." 

Simon glared at him, willing him to make the kind of comment that would warrant a massive tantrum. 

"Am no wit?!" 

"Naw nuthin, Si, nuthin..." 

Simon scowled and aggressively pushed himself out of the booth, his anger only encouraged by Spud's lack of protest at his departure. Fuck them all, he decided - he was Simon David Williamson and he didn't need this shit. 

With a heavy heart Simon set off up the bridges, hoping that his Dad wouldn't be in and he could get some well deserved attention from his Mum and sisters. 

\------- 

That sated him for a little while. He was supposed to be going round to Keezbo's for some kind of bank holiday house party, which Sick Boy thought was a bit indulgent seeing as how none of them worked but who was he to turn down a party? 

It was a good night as far as empties went and he definitely thought he was going to get off with Nicola. He'd never met her before but she was an absolute honey and exactly what he needed. He was necking on with her in the kitchen when he faintly heard Renton's voice appear from somewhere inside the house. 

He hadn't thought Mark was coming tonight and he felt betrayed by the way his stomach clenched at the thought of him. Without thinking twice he pulled Nicola into the living room, sliding down onto the edge of the sofa and pulling her onto his lap. 

Renton was shrugging his coat off at the other side of the room, chatting to Tommy and laughing away like his life was totally normal and he wasn't in the midst of a horrendous and traumatising fall out, the bastard. 

Sick Boy glared at him until Renton looked his way, his eyebrows raising in quiet judgement. He looked away with a shake of his head and Sick Boy pulled on Nicola's neck in retaliation, kissing her sloppily. 

"Git a fuckin room Sick Boy, Jesus," Gav sneered to Simon's left. 

"Passion cares not for human conceptions of space, Gavin," Simon replied, getting up and making a show of leading Nicola to the door. "But as you insist, we'll get a room alright." He was speaking loudly even though he wasn't quite sure what he expected Mark to do. Mark just let them go though, much to Simon's chagrin. 

Second Prize looked at Mark. "Ye need tae stop babyin him Renton. Cunt canny function on his own, it's no normal." 

"Hardly fuckin baby him. Ye ken wit he's like man, he'd be like that whether a facilitated um or no." 

"It's no right mate. He's like a big wain n ye encourage it. We aw see yees whisperin n makin eyes it each other n that. Anywan wid hink there wis suhin queer aboot yees." 

Renton laughed. "Sick Boy? Queer? Dinny make me laugh." 

"Hurry up n apologise to um anyway for fuck sake. He's a pain the arse mate," Tommy interrupted, doing his best to stop a fight from breaking out and ruining the night. 

"Apologisin wid be babyin um. Just fuckin ignore um lads, alright?" 

Upstairs, Sick Boy was trying and failing to get in the mood, so when he had to ask Nicola if she'd spoon him instead he absolutely and whole heartedly blamed Renton for it. 

\------

It only got worse, really, which was another thing to hate Mark for. Sick Boy was snappy and short, feeling like his skin was too small for him. He was in a near constant state of anxiousness and couldn't understand why Mark was being so stubborn - an apology was all it'd take. Simon wasn't an unreasonable guy for fuck sake, just dignified, and fuck Renton for taking this too far. 

He'd made Alison cry two nights ago for not massaging his head properly, shouting at her in frustration and storming out of the flat, failing to understand how someone could fuck up so simple a task. 

It was awkward when he saw her in the Volley with the gang two days later, but would he fuck be made to feel guilty for knowing what he wanted in life. 

Everyone had gone quiet when he walked into the pub, the rude fuckers. If he was to think into it he'd swear they had all been avoiding him, but those were thoughts for another day. He steeled himself and walked right into the middle of the group, talking animatedly and slinging an arm around Alison's shoulder. 

"Sorry aboot the other night babe. Wisny masel. Al make it up tae ye but," he whispered in her ear, sliding a hand down to grab her backside. She remained cold though, staying stiff in his arms and not saying anything. 

Simon left her alone and went to the bar, ordering a few drink and knocking them back quickly, inserting himself into conversations that he wasn't welcome in and annoying an increasingly aggravated Begbie, who was ready to knock him the fuck out if he didn't settle down. 

He was like an excitable puppy but less cute, and the amount he was drinking was enough to raise suspicion about where he'd even got the money to pay for it all. He was all over Alison and loud and sloppy and even rubbing other punters in the bar up the wrong way. 

He was singing football chants when Begbie snapped and started bellowing at him. Everyone was surprised it had taken as long as it had, actually, but no one expected it when Sick Boy fell quiet and folded in on himself, his eyes welling with tears and causing almost everyone in the vicinity to roll their eyes. 

"Fur fuck sake, will some cunt phone Renton before a crack up at this cunt?!" Begbie demanded, cutting through the now awkward silence as everyone stared at Sick Boyh. "Cunts fuckin wasted. Am sick ae dealin wae um, get that ginger cunt down here n tell um tae sort this oot. Av no got time tae be Sick Boy's fuckin babysitter." He lit a cigarette and sat down heavily, his moustache quivering with unspent irritation. 

No one moved, all frozen in limbo watching Sick Boy snivel and whine in one corner and Begbie fume in the other. 

"Fuckin dae something!!" Frank all but screamed, and Tommy jogged to the bar, asking for the phone and typing in Mark's number. 

He was about to give up after two missed calls when finally the receiver clicked and Renton spoke down the phone. 

"Hello?" 

"Mark? It's Tommy." 

"Alright buddy? What's the script?" 

"Am really sorry tae dae this Rents, honestly, but... Sick Boy's oot his tree n he's winding Beggars right up. Ye need tae come n get um, mate, he's fuckin greetin." 

Mark sighed. "Fuck sake, Tommy, am in ma bed... can ye no put um in a taxi up the road or that? Can Alison or someone no take um?" 

Tommy looked to where Alison was gingerly patting Simon's shoulder, concern only just tinting her features. 

"Everyone's hud enough ae um tae be honest Rents. A ken he's no your responsibility but he listens tae you... please Mark, he's no himsel." 

Renton was quiet for a moment, then he said "Al be there in fifteen minutes. Catch ye." 

Tommy put the phone down, turning back to the incredibly awkward situation that was playing out at the other side of the bar. 

By the time Renton arrived, everyone had largely returned to their conversations save for Alison who was being spoken at by a slightly hysterical Sick Boy. Relief sagged her shoulders when she spotted Mark come in the door and she beckoned him over, trying to move to let Mark in. 

Simon didn't notice at first that Mark had arrived, but when he spotted him he fell quiet, his slurred speech coming to a juddering halt. Renton thanked Alison for keeping an eye on Sick Boy and slid in beside him, wanting to laugh out of fondness at the state he'd got himself in. 

"Wit you been dain ya dafty?" He asked softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Mark had obviously been sleeping when he'd been phoned, his eyes puffy and his hair tufty. He looked warm in his cotton jogging bottoms and Sick Boy wanted nothing more than to lean into him but he was still angry so he turned away, mustering every bit of strength he had to stay angry. 

Begbie was watching from the bar and made eye contact with Mark, the expression on his face saying get-him-the-fuck-out-of-here-or-else. Mark sighed and shuffled closer. 

"Si, listen. Ye've had a bit much to drink and yer no yersel. Come home wae me, al get ye tucked in n al play wae yer hair till ye fall asleep if ye like. Ye kin go back tae bein angry wae me in the morning, i'll no hold this against ye. Mon." 

A shiver of anticipation ran down Sick Boy's spine as he thought about what Renton had promised - he wanted to say no but he was too tired and drunk and he just wanted, so much, to be as needy as he felt and get some touch and warmth. 

He turned around and looked at Renton, nodding his head despite the scowl on his face. They shuffled out of the booth and Renton smiled at Tommy, ushering Sick Boy out and helping him stumble up the street and towards the flat. 

They didn't say much on the way, and it took twice as long seeing as how out of it Simon was, but eventually they were home and Mark was unzipping Simon's coat, taking his time because he knew how important it was to Simon that he felt like the centre of someone's universe. He tugged his tshirt over his head and told him to deal with the rest of his clothes whilst he got him a glass of water in a vain attempt at sobering him up or at least lessening the hangover that was in the post. 

Honestly, Renton would've apologised weeks ago - he wasn't arsed and didn't get anything out of seeing Simon so worked up, but this time was ridiculous even by Sick Boy's standards and Mark thought it'd be interesting to see how long he could keep this up for, anyway. 

"Really... ye really hurt me, Rents..." Simon mumbled in a small voice when Mark returned, toeing off his shoes and unzipping his trousers. Mark passed him the water and shushed him, helping him with his jeans. 

Mark moved away and settled down in his bed, patting the space next to him and telling Sick Boy to flick off the light. He did, stumbling a bit with the alcohol in his system, and collapsed down beside Renton on the bed, breathing deeply and resting his head on Mark's chest. 

Renton ran his hands through Simon's hair and methodically toyed with the strands, unsure if he'd be able to get him to sleep but feeling pleasantly surprised when he felt Simon's breathing even out, sleep having taken him. 

It wasn't long before he was following suit, his hand stilling in Simon's hair. 

\----- 

Sick Boy woke up to the horrible sensation of nausea and pain and the familiar smell of Mark Renton's skin. He settled against the pillows and tried to remain still, as movement of any sort made him feel like he'd throw up instantly. He just lay there, watching Mark, counting the freckles on his face until Mark cracked open an eye and murmured "Stop staring at me." 

"Sorry." Simon croaked, his head pounding just with the effort of that tiny word. 

"How ye feeling?" Renton asked, running a finger along Simon's spine. 

"Dunno. Depends on whether or not yer going to apologise to us." 

Mark sighed and removed his hand from Simon's skin, which - big oversight on Sick Boy's behalf. 

"Simon, ye were at yer ma's for her fuckin birthday the day ae the game. Ye'd fuckin telt me aboot it every day aboot three week in the build up. A didny say tae ye cos a knew ye were busy. Am sorry. Ye ken a widny leave ye oot on purpose." 

Simon knew that. He knew that Mark had known he was busy and that he'd never intentionally left him out in the past. He reached out and pulled Renton's hand back towards him, tingling when he continued his caress of Simon's skin. 

Just being here in his warmth and certainty, the feeling of his fingers on Sick Boy's back and the notion that Mark could be anywhere and with anyone yet chose to be in bed, petting Simon, made him want to preen with happiness. He felt the build up of anxiety wash away and be replaced with calm contentedness, even despite the spectre of today's hangover. 

"Apology accepted, a suppose. Now what are my chances ae a ham shank?" 

Mark laughed. "Get up and make me a cup ae tea n a might even blow ye." 

Sick Boy battled the sickness that threatened to consume him and swung out of bed, making his way to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with a cup of overly milky tea and settled against Mark's side, pliant and happy. He quietly whispered "Sorry for being stubborn, Rents," and Mark just kissed him on the top of the head in reply, drinking his tea despite the fact that Sick Boy could never make a decent cup that didn't taste like dishwater. 

"This is a braw cup ae tea, Si." Mark lied, his arm wrapping around Sick Boy's shoulders and tugging him close. 

"Love you, Mark." 

"A know ye do." 

"But dinny go anywhere without me ever again." 

Renton laughed and placed his tea down on the windowsill above their heads, turning and tickling Sick Boy's overly sensitive hungover skin, the sound of his shrieks probably clear from Arthur's Seat. 

Sick Boy was needy as fuck, aye. But he handled it well, all things considered, if he did say so himself.


End file.
